


Once on a winter's night

by katajainen



Series: February Ficlet Challenge 2018 [6]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blind Date, Chance Meetings, First Meetings, M/M, No beta - provided as is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-08
Updated: 2018-02-08
Packaged: 2019-03-15 12:03:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 860
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13612983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katajainen/pseuds/katajainen
Summary: Bilbo's young cousin Drogo has fixed him a blind date, but from the very beginning, nothing seems to go as planned.It's not necessarily a bad thing.





	Once on a winter's night

**Author's Note:**

> Day 7 of the February Ficlet Challenge 2018, prompt: blind date.

Bilbo watched as his watch ticked slowly towards the full hour and counted down in his head. 5… 4… 3… 2… 1… there! 8 pm, and he was not waiting another second longer. He was going to kill Drogo, that’s what he was going to do.

Just as he pressed his palms against the bar, about to stand up, a full, foam-capped pint slid into his field of vision.

‘It’s on me, mate – you looked like you needed one.’ The man perching on the stool to his right sported a truly impressive set of mustachios that curled almost down to his chin, and his hair escaped from beneath a shapeless beanie in a messy ponytail. He lifted his own half-full tankard. 'Cheers!'

'Thank you.' Bilbo sat back down and took a sip, because why the hell not? You didn’t let a nice pint of stout go to waste on a chilly winter's day.

'So–' the stranger began– 'what's with the long face?'

‘It’s…’ Bilbo stared down into his drink for a moment, then shrugged.  'I got stood up,' he said simply.  'A blind date, if you can imagine.' He took another good mouthful of his beer, and let out an appreciative sigh at the smooth, malty flavour. 'My cousin set me up with a friend of a friend, only he didn’t care to show up.'

'Rude – and their loss. But it could be worse.'

'How so?'

'This date of yours – he could have been, let's see–' the man twirled the tip of one mustachio over a finger, looking thoughtful– 'all full of himself, and you couldn’t have got him to talk about anything else than "me this and my that and me and mine" – and well, you know the type.’'

Bilbo snorted. Of course he did.

'Or he could have been terribly boring, and made you fall asleep face-first in your dessert–’ Here Bilbo had to hide a smile, because that was an highly unlikely happening. ‘– or even worse: he could have been all of eighteen, for all you know, and  _ desperate _ !' The last word was delivered in a hissed stage-whisper as the speaker leaned over the bar towards Bilbo. 'Imagine a string of condoms falling off his wallet as he tries to ply you with drink.'

‘Surely that's too much of an exaggeration.'

'Oh, would a fine-looking fellow like yourself prefer a date who is all of eighty and desperate?'

'No!' Bilbo denied laughing. 'It's not the age I find ridiculous, but the desperate part.' Except that here he was sitting himself, waiting for an hour for a mystery date who never deigned to show up. What he would not confess was that he did have a single condom in a side compartment of his wallet. He  _ was  _ a responsible single adult after all.

'Fine, let's drop the desperate. Because it could have been even worse! He could have taken you out to a restaurant–' and the stage-whisper was back, and Bilbo found himself leaning forward in curiosity– 'a restaurant where he knew the head chef... and no-one would ever see hide or hair of you again! Gone, like a puff of smoke! PUFF!' The man illustrated the effect with his hands, and Bilbo doubled over with startled laughter.

'That's horrible!' he gasped.

'Isn't it just?' the other grinned behind his mustachios with a flash of white teeth. 'So you see? You're much better off when he never showed up. Must have caught himself another poor soul for the soup pot.'

Suppressing another fit of giggles, even if just barely, Bilbo dropped his gaze to the pair of hands now cradling an empty pint.

They were nice hands, he decided. The strong hands of someone who worked with them. He quickly looked up again, only to meet a pair of dark brown eyes looking back at him, a smile making most fetching crinkles at their corners.

'Now don't you look all cheered up. Another?' the stranger gestured at his empty pint.   
Bilbo shook his head, and made a split-second decision. 'No,' he said. 'But on the other hand, I'm starving. And seeing that my date has abandoned me to my fate–' he swallowed. 'I know a very nice place near here, excellent Italian food...'

'Should I worry that you know the head chef, too?'

'I'm  _ related _ to the head chef– but not to worry: I bring in too much custom that putting my dates in the pot would hardly be profitable–' he nearly bit his tongue at the unfortunate choice of words. But in for a penny, in for a pound. 'Consider it an adventure.'

'Will do.' There was a definite twinkle in the stranger's eyes as he pushed himself off the bar and held out his hand to Bilbo. 'Bofur McLuin.'

'Bilbo Baggins.'

And Bofur's hand was warm, and his smile was bright, and Bilbo felt pleasantly fuzzy and bubbly in a way that perhaps was not entirely due to a pint of stout on an empty stomach. The evening might not be a complete waste of time after all.

But he would still strangle Drogo once he got a hold of him. He’d be unbearably smug otherwise.

 


End file.
